Bayside Queens (BoyxMan)

3.

3.

CJ

"Two times in one week kid?"

The words left my mouth as soon as I lowered the arrest report in front of my face.

Boggs had shoved the file at my chest moments before, muttering something about how he was "too old for this shitty job." I had shaken my head and grabbed the report anyways, mindlessly entering the interrogation room he had sent me to.

Little did I know, the image that had been circulating through my brain the past two days was about to materialize in front of me.

He blinked, brown eyes wide and as red-rimmed as ever. He sat slouched in the iron chair at the table, his hair standing up on its ends. He looked high again.

"I'm not a kid," was his scratchy response. I sighed, then took the seat across from him.

"So what crime did you commit today?" I asked casually, leaning back in my chair. For some reason I lost every sense of my authority when it came to this kid. Maybe it was because his eyes looked so deeply into mine that it made my skin itch.

"Art is not a crime," he replied, a sassy edge to his voice that brought the corners of my mouth up. I snorted. He didn't strike me as the kind of kid to go defiling the streets of Bayside with spray paint, but hey, I hardly knew him.

"But graffiti is," I replied, sitting up straighter. "Listen Quinn, I've already let you off once, and I'm the boss around here. I'm the Sergeant. I should be the one throwing you in a cell."

He rolled his eyes. I raised my eyebrows.

"So you would rather be locked up? Good, I'll get right on it then," I replied, evident sarcasm in my voice as I stood up, acting as if would carry out the threat.

Quinn sprung right up, slamming his handcuffed wrists on the metal table of the barren interrogation room.

"No, CJ don't! Please! I'm sorry."

I stopped, and turned back, rolling my lip between my teeth. "Community service it is then," I told him, placing the file on the table and jotting down his punishment. Quinn snorted.

"Hey," I reprimanded, glancing up at him. "Lose the attitude. I'm doing you a favor."

Surprisingly, his cheeks pinkened. "Yes Sir," was his mumbled reply. For some reason I felt my heart thump.

"Okay," I said, standing up straighter. "You have to complete five one hour shifts, starting tomorrow. After that it will be every other day until the shifts are up. Report here after school and I'll get you set up."

Quinn nodded, then placed his hands back on the table, his cuffs clinking against the metal with a loud thud. I walked around the table and grabbed a key from the ring on my belt, then lightly grabbed his wrist and brought his arms over to me. Just by gripping his hands I could tell he was nervous. His pulse was out of control, but his hands were almost as cold as the metal attached to them. I wanted to hold them between my own until he was warm.

"What's your name?" he suddenly asked me, just as I dropped his freed wrists onto his lap.

"You know my name," I replied, busy replacing the key.

"No, your real name," he insisted, causing me to look down at his seated figure. He was looking up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. It was then that I noticed how loosely his clothes seemed to fit him; how he was only wearing a dirty white t-shirt in the end of November in New York. His collarbone peaked out from underneath the collar of the shirt, which was much too big. He was skinny. I bet if his shirt were tighter I could have made out his ribcage. The thought sent a shutter through me.

"CJ Thomas," I told him, busy packing all my things.

"No, your real name," he said again, igniting a strange anger within me. I didn't like when people tried to pry, especially with things like this.

"See Jay Thomas." I repeated, distinctly gritting out every syllable through my teeth. "And don't ask me again. Let's go, I'm taking you home."

This time Quinn didn't even object. Rubbing his wrists, he swallowed, then followed me out the door and down the long hallway towards the parking lot. Once we got in my car, him in the front this time, he spoke.

"You can drop me at the same place," he said in a small voice. I snorted.

"Yeah, and maybe this time you'll let me stop the car?"

He smiled shyly, looking over at me. My stomach dropped. Gulping, I quickly turned the key and started backing out of the lot.

"How about an address this time?" I asked him, flicking through radio stations. I stopped at one of those One Direction songs.

"44 Broad. You like One Direction?" he asked, the most animation I had ever heard in his voice. I smiled, barely registering the address.

"You know, I guess," I told him. Then he started laughing. No, giggling. And all I could do was stare at him. I didn't care that he was making fun of my music taste. All I cared about was that giggle. So much so, that I almost missed his house.

Quickly I pulled off to the side of the road. It was located in a set of town houses on one of the main roads in Bayside. I grew up on this street too.

Quinn stopped giggling finally, recognizing we were here. He unbuckled his seat belt slowly, then reluctantly glanced up at me through his lashes. I was watching him with a small amused smile that I only realized I was sporting when his cheeks reddened.

"Well, thanks. Thanks for, you know, everything today," he said, finally looking at me straight on. I plastered on my sergeant face, too embarrassed that he caught me with my guard down.

Lips in a straight line. Hard eyes.

"Stay out of trouble, Quinn. I'll see you tomorrow."

But he smiled lazily. "Yeah."

Then he was forcing open the door and pushing himself out of the car, but just before he shut the door, I swallowed hard and acted on a strange impulse I didn't realize I had.

"Hey Quinn?" I shouted, my voice small despite its volume.

Instantly his face was back in the car doorway, almost as if he hadn't left at all. His eyes were still bloodshot, bags beneath his lids deep.

"It's Carter. Carter James," I told him, the sound of the name on my lips almost making me gag.

Quinn's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't understand.

"My name," I clarified, sounding slightly more stable. "Carter. My name is Carter."

Quinn's face broke into a smile. A big one that stretched all across his boyish and pale face.

"Cool," he said, the same smile still on his face. He rolled his lip between his teeth, then pulled one end into his mouth. I noticed his lips were cracked. "Well," he said, backing up a little. "Tomorrow then, Carter." And he slammed the door after smiling again, then ran all the way up to his front door.

I relaxed. For some reason the name didn't sound so toxic coming from his lips. And I could get used to that.